


All These Lace Lined Caskets

by Aylwyyn228



Series: There was something taking care of me and you [6]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:48:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25409452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aylwyyn228/pseuds/Aylwyyn228
Summary: Hosea's grief was a thing with weight. It blanketed everything in silence, and in sadness, and Arthur just couldn’t breach it.He didn’t know how to.Perhaps he was too much of a coward.
Relationships: Bessie Matthews/Hosea Matthews, Hosea Matthews & Arthur Morgan & Dutch van der Linde, Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde
Series: There was something taking care of me and you [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2090346
Comments: 10
Kudos: 61





	All These Lace Lined Caskets

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone! 
> 
> This is set in the immediate aftermath of Bessie's death, and serves as a kind of spiritual predecessor to [The Last Silhouette](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24370261).

Arthur wished Dutch would hurry the fuck up. 

The atmosphere in the house was stifling. The  _ heat _ was stifling. Jesus Christ.

He dragged the drapes open, trying to get at least a little bit of air. 

Out of the window, he could see the heat haze distorting the walls of the whitewashed chapel on the hill, shimmering like water.

He reached up to tug his top buttons open, wishing, not for the first time that day that he hadn’t worn his duster. The day was uncomfortably hot for so early in the year, and he could feel the back of his shirt sticking to his skin. 

Standing out in the churchyard had been almost unbearable… though to be honest, that wasn’t just the heat… 

Arthur swerved away from that particular thought, and focussed back on Dutch,  _ still _ talkin’ to Susan out in the street. Mainly, if he was honest, to keep himself from payin’ too much attention to the heavy presence at his back, standing just across the room. 

Hosea’s grief was… it seemed to have a weight to it, a pull. It blanketed everything in silence, and in sadness, and Arthur just couldn’t breach it. 

He didn’t know how to.

Perhaps he was too much of a coward. Didn’t want to hear all that Hosea might say… 

The way Dutch and Susan were standing, side on to him, meant that he couldn’t even make out the way their lips were moving, so he was forced to simply stare at the way Susan’s skirts brushed against the dust. 

Her hand, clutched around her cigarette case, was still stained dark around the nails.

It’d come up well, he thought, Susan’s skirt. Taken nicely. 

He’d gone hunting for some fast black dye for her, after… after they’d heard. He’d managed to get her some of that Diamond stuff, cheap too. The old fella in the general store, he’d, well, he’d had a soft spot for Bessie. 

Arthur felt his eyes start to burn and swallowed hard.

John was mounted up on the young mare Hosea had bought for him a couple of months back, trying ever so hard not to look like he was eavesdropping on whatever Dutch was talking about. 

Before, John had just been borrowing whoever’s horse was most convenient. Usually Pearson’s, since he wasn’t apt to go roaming. But that meant that whenever they had to pack up and move, John ended up riding double with someone… usually Arthur. 

Kid only had two moods, either morose, stubborn and wordless, or practically vibrating with questions. 

Arthur was pretty glad when Hosea had finally got the kid a horse of his own. 

The mare, unimaginatively named Philly by John, was placid and unshockable, which was good given the kid seemed keen to ride her into damn near every rattler and coyote this side of the state line. 

Dutch and Susan didn’t look like they were going to be done any time soon, so Arthur finally decided to bite the bullet and turn around. 

The rest of the house was cast in dull shadow, drapes all drawn closed, and Hosea still had his back to him. He was fiddling with something Arthur couldn’t see, turning it over and over in his hands. There was a bottle, discarded on the dresser by his side, a couple of inches of dark liquor in its base. 

Arthur reckoned it was the brandy Dutch had poured a measure out of that morning, when Hosea’s hands had been shaking too hard to fasten his shirt. 

Dutch had had to hold the glass for him, his other hand pressed into the back of his hair, murmuring ‘Just get through the service, old girl.’ 

Arthur also reckoned that that bottle had been full that morning. 

He wanted to say something, to say  _ anything _ . 

But he didn’t.

There weren’t words. 

As Arthur watched, Hosea transferred whatever he was fiddling with into one hand and reached up to untie the black cotton strip looped around his sleeve. He let it flutter sadly down onto the hardwood dresser, and dropped his hands to rest against the wood. 

And then he was absolutely still. 

So still it was uncanny. 

Hosea was so rarely static, even when he was reading or engrossed in some task. 

Dutch was always needling him about it.

For all he always itched to be doing  _ something _ , Dutch could get so caught up in whatever he was thinking about that he’d not move for hours, not eat or sleep, ‘less someone reminded him. But Hosea was always tapping his foot, or chewing at his nails, or leaning so far back in his chair that him and John had placed bets on how long it’d take him to tip it over entirely. 

But now… 

Arthur had seen photographs, spirit photographs, they called ‘em. It was a trick, he knew that, even if he weren’t sure exactly how they did it, but it was those photographs he thought of now. 

A sad spirit, standing in the corner of a room that was once his. 

But then… maybe that was Bessie now… 

Arthur felt his eyes start to burn again. 

“Hosea,” he said, quieter than he intended, but enough to be heard in the pin-drop silence. 

It wasn’t a question, and Hosea didn’t answer, but Arthur felt his attention shift. Knew, though he couldn’t see his face, that he’d dragged him back from some dark thoughts.

Arthur didn’t know what he intended to say, and didn’t get the chance in any case, because there were sudden familiar footsteps in the hallway, and the moment was broken. 

He felt Dutch halt just behind him, and knew that Dutch was watching Hosea just as closely as he was. 

“John and Susan have set off back,” Dutch said, finally, and left the sentence hanging as if he had been intending to add something else. 

“Alright,” Hosea said, bland as anything.

“We can…” Dutch started. “Are you… What are you wanting to do?” 

Hosea didn’t answer, just tossed whatever was in his hand to clatter against the dresser. He took a couple of steady steps over to the mirror hanging on a chain over the mantle. It was hanging backwards. Hosea reached up and turned it back around.

And then he finally,  _ finally _ turned to face them. 

His eyes were shot with red, seemed sunk dark into his face with exhaustion, but they were dry. 

Arthur hadn’t seen him cry, not once. Not  _ ever _ , now he came to think about it. Not in all the years he’d known him.

He’d been frantic, when he’d ridden into camp nearly a week ago, callin’ for Dutch to come back with him, to bring money for a doctor. To come  _ quick _ . Right now. 

And then he’d been icy calm, hands shaking with the tremor he couldn’t seem to control, but seein’ to everythin’ the same way he always did. 

But Arthur had seen the way Dutch was eyein’ him, when he thought no one else was watchin’. 

Arthur didn’t know what words had been spoken between them, deep in the night, when Hosea looked like he might come unstrung, but Dutch was watchin’ Hosea like he was waiting for the axe to fall.

Now, in the gloom of the shrouded house, all Arthur could think was that, for the first time, Hosea looked  _ old.  _ Older than he was. 

Old, and exhausted, and bitter. 

When he opened his mouth, his voice was hoarse. 

“Burn it all, if you want.” The words hung there for a second in the air, waiting for an answer, and then Hosea let out a breath. “Come on. If we don’t leave now, we’ll lose the light.” 

Without another word, he pushed past the two of them, and left the house without a second glance. 

Arthur shot Dutch a look. 

“I know.” Dutch held up his hands. “I know. I’ll talk to him. Come on, I don’t want him ridin’ out on his own.” 

Arthur nodded. “Sure. Sure, I’ll just…” 

He didn’t know how to finish, so he just gestured around the room. Dutch gave him a tight smile, squeezed his shoulder, and followed Hosea out into the street. 

Now that he was left alone in the house, he wasn’t sure exactly why he’d wanted to take a last look.

The place felt cold, despite the heat outside. He musta slept here a hundred times, it wasn’t  _ home _ , but he knew it down to the way the boards creaked and settled in the night. Now it was just… just another house. 

Even if he did come back, it wouldn’t ever be the same. 

He thought that was probably what Hosea meant too.

Further into the room now, he caught a glint of silver discarded on the dresser, and realised what Hosea had been fiddling with. Without a thought, he pocketed it, and as he turned, he caught the flash of his own reflection in the uncovered mirror. 

He looked nearly as bad as Hosea. He sure as shit looked as tired. His eyes were a hell of a lot wetter though. 

He raised his hand in a half salute, and his reflection in the mirror did the same.

“So long, Bess.”

***

If Arthur didn’t know him so well, he’d say that Hosea rode the route back like a madman. By the time they hit camp, still with daylight despite Hosea’s warnings, his horse was steaming in the lingering evening heat. 

When Arthur reined in behind him, he could see that the stallion was snorting out misty breaths, eyes wide. 

Hosea jumped down without hitching the horse, and took a few steps before he halted all of a sudden. Like he’d been shot through. His knees seemed to buckle and before Arthur could blink, he was on the ground. 

“Shit,” Arthur heard Dutch behind him, and when he looked around, Dutch had already dismounted and was hurrying over to Hosea. 

Hosea was on his knees. Arthur was pretty sure he could see him shaking. 

Dutch hooked his hands beneath Hosea’s arms. “Alright, old girl, alright. Arthur, help me.” 

Dutch tried, unsuccessfully, to drag Hosea up. He shifted his weight, tried to loop an arm around his waist, but Hosea looked to be dead weight. 

And the others were beginning to crowd around, questions buzzing through the air.  _ “Is he alright?” “What happened?” _

John was near the front, pale faced and eyes wide, and in the crowd, Arthur caught sight of a familiar slick figure. Goddamn Trelawny was back, sneaking in while they’d been away, like the fucking snake he was. 

Hosea still hadn’t made a sound. His arms were limp, even as Dutch tried to get him to cling on.

He slipped gracelessly out of Dutch’s grip again, and Dutch glanced round. “Arthur!” He snapped. “Help me!”

Arthur blinked and realised he was still mounted. 

He jumped down, tossing his reins to Pearson. 

He pulled Hosea’s arm over his shoulder, and hauled him upright. His feet tangled a little, but Arthur didn’t have any trouble dragging him forwards. He was hardly built like a fighter at the best of times, and at that moment, Arthur felt like he could’ve lifted him clean off his feet. 

As Arthur began to turn towards Hosea’s tent, he heard Dutch close to his ear. “No. Take him to mine.” 

Hosea’s breath hitched, the beginnings of a sob that had been coming for days.

Arthur could hear Dutch shouting orders. “Fetch us some brandy.” 

“I, err… I don’t think we got any,” Pearson said. 

“Horseshit!” Dutch shouted, from somewhere distant behind them, his voice going strained. “I am  _ surrounded _ by drunks and degenerates, someone fetch me somethin’ to God damn  _ drink _ !”

Arthur reached Dutch’s tent and shouldered the fabric aside before lowering Hosea lightly onto the cot. Dutch was at their side in an instant, taking Hosea’s hand and dropping into a crouch. 

“Leave us, son,” he said, without even meeting his eye, and Arthur still couldn’t stomach disobeying  _ that _ tone. 

As he left the tent, he caught sight of Hosea’s face again, and all of that dread settled back into his gut. 

Because he’d never seen Hosea… he’d never seen a  _ person _ look so goddamn lost before. 

It damn near broke his heart. 

***

The questions started the second he left Dutch’s tent, and it wasn’t like he had a goddamn answer. It should be pretty fucking obvious, as far as he could see. 

Hosea had loved Bessie, and Bessie was dead. 

What other fucking answer was there? 

So Arthur dismissed them with a hand, and a growl. He didn’t have the way with words that Dutch did, but he could sure as fuck scare people away from him. 

He wandered off into the sparse trees at the side of camp. What he really wanted was to hunker down inside his own damn tent, in his own fucking bed, but that would just encourage people to come asking more goddamn stupid questions. 

He didn’t want to talk. 

Didn’t want to do anything. 

He hoped to God that Dutch could bring Hosea round, and if there was anyone to do it it would be Dutch. If Hosea loved Bessie, then he loved Dutch near on as much. As much as anyone  _ could _ love another person. 

“Shit.” Arthur stumbled over something in the brush and had to catch himself, scraping his hand up on one of the trees. And all of a sudden, he couldn’t quite find the will to keep his feet.

He felt spent. 

He sank into a crouch at the foot of the tree, and tried not to think of anything at all.

After a minute, he dragged the old rosary out of his pocket. It was tarnished now, silver faded, if it even was silver. He’d never got the feeling that Bessie was overly sentimental, and he knew that she’d seen some hard times way back when. He reckoned if it was worth anything at all she’d’ve sold it. 

He hadn’t seen it in years. 

But he remembered her carrying it in her pocket. Always. 

He’d asked her about it once and she’d taught him how to say a Hail Mary, though he couldn’t remember a word of it now. He’d asked her then if she believed any of it, and she’d got real sad then. Even at sixteen he’d seen the way her face had changed. 

He wondered suddenly if she’d’ve wanted any of that service. If she wouldn’t have rather been out in the brush, under the trees and the stars. She’d been so bright and wild, that a sad Presbyterian churchyard seemed too… civilised, Dutch would say, but Arthur wasn’t sure that was the right word… 

He’d never asked about any of that again, but for a year or so after whenever she’d joined them he’d asked to see the beads. Fascinated, in some way he couldn’t explain at the time, and still couldn’t, if he was honest. 

Looking at them now, they looked old, like Bessie had looked old at the end, though she wasn’t, not really. Like Hosea had looked old when Arthur had carried him to Dutch’s tent, old in a way that wasn’t anything to do with the years behind him. 

He… Jesus Christ. 

He leant his face into his fist, felt the cool beads brush against his cheek, and he breathed. 

The dry brush over to his left crunched, and his stomach dropped. He fumbled to draw before he recognised John’s scraggly frame looming over him. 

“Jesus, John, will you holler if you’re gonna go sneakin’ up on people? I nearly put a bullet in you.” 

John just shrugged loosely, like he didn’t care, and Christ, this kid was dumb as rocks. 

Arthur rubbed at his face again. 

“What’s that?” John gestured at the rosary chain, still hanging from his fist. 

Arthur stuffed it back into his pocket. “Nothin’.” 

John was still frowning, leaning over him, and Arthur sighed and pushed himself back to his feet. “Whadayya want, kid?” 

John just shrugged again. “I don’t get it.” 

Christ, he didn’t have the energy for the kid right now. Arthur kicked at the tree, trying to get some feeling back into his feet after he’d been all crouched up on them. “Don’t get what?” 

“I don’t get why Hosea’s so upset.” 

Arthur looked at him. “What?”

If John was playing with him, he was doin’ a real good impression of an idiot. “Someone drop you on your head when you were a kid?”

John looked at him blankly. 

“Bessie’s  _ dead _ , John.”

“Yeah, I know.” John rolled his eyes. “Everyone  _ dies _ .” 

A flash of anger rolled through Arthur, so hot that for a second he couldn’t think for it. In a heartbeat, he had his hand fisted into the front of John’s shirt. “You ever say that in front of Hosea, and I’ll take my belt to you, you hear me? You hear me?” 

Arthur blinked and reason returned. 

He released John, his hand slow and stupid and twitchy. He felt hot. Felt his father’s ghost at his back. 

John, for his part, was just scowling. He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t even flinched. 

Clearly, for once, Arthur didn’t sound too convincing. 

Or John just knew him too well. 

“Well, they  _ do _ ,” John said, with the stubborn indignation that only a fourteen year old could conjure. 

“I…” Arthur snapped his mouth shut, because he didn’t really have an answer to that. “Well, sure, but it's different when…”

John was just looking at him. 

“Shit, there’s somethin’ wrong with you, John Marston.” 

John just shrugged and kicked up a whole heap of brush. “I just don’t get it.” 

He didn’t sound belligerent any more, just bewildered. 

Not for the first time, Arthur had the uncanny feeling that John was some kind of changeling child, come from the fae to live amongst them. 

And Arthur, not for the first time, felt some kind of obligation to try and educate him. “Well, what ain’t you getting?” 

“She was old.” 

“Not that goddamn old, Jesus!” 

“Old as Hosea.” 

Forty-seven ain’t old, kid!”

John shrugged again. “Older’n my pa got to.” 

Again, Arthur didn’t really have much to say to that. 

He took a couple of steps closer to John, and tried to think of the kind of thing Hosea said to the kid. “Well, ain’t you gonna miss her?” 

“Sure,” John said, unconvincingly, and Arthur felt that anger well up again. 

He made an effort to push it aside.

“She used to… Shit, she used to try and teach you dominoes, you remember? You used to get all pissed cos you couldn’t add up quick enough, and she used to say… used to…  _ Shit _ .” 

Arthur suddenly couldn’t get his words out. His eyes were burning and he couldn’t find the will to do anything about it at all. 

He could feel hot, wet tears spilling over his cheeks and he sank back into a crouch, swiped at his eyes angrily. “Goddamn it.”

“Arthur?” John’s voice sounded wavery. 

After a second, Arthur felt thin fingers against his shoulder. Patting against his back. “Arthur, I ain’t mean… I didn’t…” 

He sniffed and tried to draw in a breath, but all that did was make it sound more like he was crying. Which he was, a lot. “It’s… It’s alrigh’, kid…” 

He was suddenly supporting the weight of John’s frame over his shoulders. It was uncoordinated and heavy, and John’s hands were pressing weirdly into his ribs. It kinda hurt… But it was also kinda nice… 

Or as nice as anythin’ could be about now.

“I… I’ll miss her too,” John said, quietly, right into his ear. Like it was an admission that’d cost him something. 

And that just about broke whatever resolve Arthur had left. He couldn’t quite draw in a proper breath through all the tears. 

“Arthur?” John said, from his side, still pressed into the side of his hair and sounding seriously worried now. 

“Shut up, kid,” Arthur said, and sat up just enough to wrap his arms across John’s back. “Just shut up, for a minute.” 

***

He and John had sat out by the tree long enough for Arthur to get a grip on himself. John had been, well… Arthur didn’t know whether their talk had helped him at all, but he guessed John would work his way through it all in his own time. 

After John had left him, Arthur had caught a couple of rabbits, just to feel like he was doin’ something useful. By the time he’d dumped them by the fire, it was already late, and Arthur decided to check in on Hosea. 

Pretty much the whole camp had retired, either to sleep or to talk in small groups by the fire, so Arthur had a clear run over to Dutch’s tent without anyone askin’ any more damn fool questions. 

He didn’t bother to knock on the tent post, since he was pretty damn sure he wasn’t goin’ to walk in on… anything Dutch and Hosea would prefer he didn’t see, and he wanted to be able to retreat quietly if it looked like he was interrupting somethin’ else. 

There was silence inside the tent, and he just used a finger to brush the canvas aside. 

Dutch looked up instantly, from where he was sat on the foot of the cot, like he’d been waiting for Arthur, or somebody, to stick their head in. 

Hosea was curled up on the bed, breathin’ slow and deep. With his face lax in sleep, he looked thin and drawn. He’d always had angular features, but about now, with the hollows in his cheeks, he looked positively ill. Arthur knew he hadn’t been eatin’ well, not sleepin’ either, while Bessie had been sick, and he was damn sure he hadn’t slept since she’d passed. 

He was still fully dressed, aside from his boots, discarded at Dutch’s feet. Dutch had Hosea’s legs in his lap, a hand against his ankle, rubbing across his skin in slow circles. 

Dutch raised his eyebrows in a question, and Arthur just nodded down at Hosea at the bed. There wasn’t anything else. No crisis that needed Dutch’s attention. Arthur was just checking in. 

Dutch gave a slight nod and started gently manoeuvring himself out from under Hosea.

Arthur ducked back out to give them a little privacy. He lit a cigarette, while he waited. 

Dutch emerged after a minute or so, dragging a hand through his hair. He’d been sweating out his pomade in the heat, and when he drew his hand back, he dragged a greasy strand forward against his face. “Jesus,” he said, under his breath. 

“He alright?” Arthur asked, low, so as not to wake Hosea up. 

Dutch pressed his knuckles into his eyes before he answered. “Passed out ‘bout twenty minutes ago or so. Finally.” 

“Might be the best thing for him about now.”

Dutch just hummed. He sagged back against the tentpost like he was just as exhausted as Hosea. “I managed to get Pearson to scrounge up some gin in the end. I’m not sure half a bottle of mother’s ruin is  _ quite _ the same as a brandy to steady your nerves, but…” 

Arthur nodded, deciding not to mention the bottle of brandy Hosea had already sunk, and finished off his cigarette. “It’s… err… appropriate, at least, Bessie… Bessie loved gin…“ 

Arthur felt his eyes burning again and pressed his hands to his face. After a second, he felt Dutch’s hand against his shoulder, squeezing hard, grounding him and dragging him back from the brink. 

He sniffed and dropped his hands as he got himself back together, felt in his pocket for another cigarette. 

“Would you care for a libation?” Dutch asked, like he was at least trying to sound ironic. Arthur had known him too long though.

Dutch was hurtin’, though whether it was for Bessie or for Hosea, or for the whole lot of them, Arthur didn’t reckon even he knew. 

Arthur just nodded, because he was hurtin’ too, and he was damn sure his voice would give him away if he tried to use it. 

Dutch leaned back into the tent and grabbed the bottle, offering it to Arthur first. The gin in question burned like it was gutrot cheap. Dutch took it back and took a drink of his own, then lifted it and poured a glug into the dust. 

They both just watched it for a second while it sank into the earth. 

“Need you to head into town tomorrow, get us some supplies. We’re running low on about everything and, well, folks still need to eat. Take whatever money we got and buy all you can.” 

“Sure,” Arthur said, easily. 

“And, err, stop by the house, pack up some things for him. I was… I woulda gone myself, but…” 

Dutch trailed off but Arthur got it. Dutch daren’t leave Hosea alone, and frankly Arthur would rather Dutch was with him too. 

“Got a lot of mouths to feed now,” Arthur said, because he never could leave well alone. “Uncle’s back hangin’ around again, and that oily prick…” 

Dutch looked at him, his mouth turning up ever so slightly. “You mean Josiah?”

Arthur just grunted. 

Dutch laughed and took another swig of gin. “Still don’t know what you’ve got against him.” 

Arthur gestured for the bottle. “He’s a slippery bastard, is all.”

“Well, so am I,” Dutch grinned, “and Hosea’s slipperier than us both put together. Christ, he’s talked us both outta a noose more times than I can count. I ever tell you abou-” 

“You did,” Arthur said shortly, because he’d heard enough eulogies today. He didn’t need to hear Hosea’s too.

Christ, he was tired. He rubbed his hands over his eyes. “I don’t like the way he comes and goes. Who knows what he’s sayin’ when he does.”

He didn’t have to clarify that he was still talkin’ about Trelawny. Dutch laughed shortly. “Josiah wouldn’t rat, it’s bad for business.”

“Oh, he’s big on business alright.” 

Dutch nudged his arm. “And anyway, you trust me, don’t ya?” 

“Always.” 

Dutch threw his arms wide. “And I trust Josiah, so all’s well.” Dutch laughed again, and drank. “Ah, I’m wastin’ my breath, you take forever to warm up to everyone. You still don’t like John.” 

Arthur felt something uncomfortable twist in his guts. “I like Marston well enough.” 

“Lord, it’s a miracle.” 

Arthur smacked Dutch’s arm, and Dutch was still grinning when he fished a cigar out of his pocket. He took a slow drag and then gestured around the camp. 

“Anyway, don’t think of these people as mouths to feed, they’re… they’re more like insurance.” 

Arthur shook his head. “I’m not gettin’ you.” 

“Well, think about it, the more people we got, the safer we are. We’re,” Dutch took another drag, “we’re a family, and I’m not just talkin’ about us. All of us together, we look out for each other,” he raised an eyebrow, like he knew what Arthur was goin’ to say, “even Josiah. You, you remember what it used to be? When it was just the three of us? Every goddamn influenza, every-”

“I remember, Dutch.” 

He remembered when Hosea had come down with a fever, that first November Arthur’d been with them, and Dutch had nearly lost all goddamn reason when he wouldn’t come out of it. Arthur didn’t like to boast, but he was pretty sure he’d kept the two of them alive for those couple of weeks, because Dutch absolutely refused to leave Hosea’s side. Arthur had done all the runnin’ around, into town for supplies and medicine. 

Arthur reckoned the two of them woulda starved if it’d been left to Dutch.

And so, alright, he guessed he could see where Dutch was comin’ from. More people meant more folks watching their backs, more money comin’ in, he could see that but… 

“We gonna be alright, Dutch?” 

Dutch grinned. “Course we are, son! Always have been.”

“Do you…” Arthur didn’t even want to voice what he was thinkin’. “What about Hosea?” 

Dutch’s face fell suddenly, just for an instant. And he tried real hard to rally himself, to put on the front he always did, but it was too late. Arthur had seen. 

Dutch smiled, the exact same way he did when he was playin’ someone. “He’ll be fine. Old girl just needs some time, is all. We all need some time.”

Arthur just nodded. He didn’t need any more answer. He’d seen the look on Dutch’s face. 

It was what he expected, and exactly what he’d been scared of. 

Dutch took another drag of his cigar, and breathed out deep into the humid night air. “I mean it,” he said, much more seriously. “We’ll be alright…  _ He’ll _ be alright. I brought us this far.” 

Arthur nodded again. When Dutch talked like this, Arthur, honest and truly, believed him. He had to. Dutch had never seen them wrong. Had never seen  _ him _ wrong. And Arthur knew, whatever happened, he’d stand with Dutch against any enemy. Because Dutch would stand with  _ him _ . 

Dutch stubbed out his cigar in the grass, wiping off the ash, before stowing it back in his pocket. He reached up and squeezed Arthur’s shoulder again. 

Arthur didn’t think he’d ever looked so earnest. 

“I…” he started. “Thank you, son, for the last few days, you’ve been… Hosea’d thank you too. It’s not fair to put it on you, but all these people are gonna need you to stay strong now. I’m gonna need you…” 

“You got me, Dutch. Always.” 

And Arthur wasn’t so sure that Dutch had gotten teary over Bessie, but he was certain that Dutch was a little misty eyed now. 

Dutch laughed a little, and wiped at his face again. “I just… Can you watch him, for a minute? I need a little air.” 

“Course.” 

Dutch gave his shoulder one last squeeze, and then departed off in the direction of the woods Arthur had lost himself in earlier. 

Arthur watched him go, until the shadows of the trees engulfed him, and then he ducked into the tent.

Hosea was still asleep, one hand pressed under his cheek, the other hanging off the side of the cot. 

There were tear tracks against his face, as if Arthur had been in any doubt about the state he’d been in when he’d left him with Dutch. He still looked exhausted, like the sleep was doing him no good at all. 

Arthur watched him for a second, watched the way his chest rose and fell slowly. 

“Don’t you give up now, old man, you hear me?” 

Hosea didn’t give any response. Not that Arthur expected any. 

He drew the rosary out of his pocket, and draped it loosely over Hosea’s outstretched hand, tucking it underneath his thumb. 

Hosea didn’t wake, but he did tighten his fist, automatically clutching at the chain. 

Arthur would go back to the house tomorrow, pick up any photographs, any trinkets of Bessie’s and any of Hosea’s clothes. He’d ask Hosea, before he went, if there was anything specific he wanted, but if Hosea couldn’t answer him, then he’d pick up whatever he could carry. 

Arthur sat himself where Dutch had vacated, at the end of the bed, and watched him. The empty bottle of gin had been tossed on its side on the grass, just inside the canvas walls. 

“You gotta be alright,” Arthur said, once more into the silence. “Cos I don’t reckon Dutch is gonna be okay if you’re not.” 

It went without saying, but, he was pretty damn sure he wouldn’t be either. 

**Author's Note:**

> So, I finally found something to do with my PhD research! XD
> 
> I hope that didn't depress you all too much! I would love to know what you thought! <3<3<3


End file.
